There was barely a scratch when Moira blotted the blood away with a tissue to see how bad the wound was. The injury didn't explain the amount of blood smeared on my neck. I'm not bleeding as such; we just expected a more pronounced wound.

Drinking the tea and eating the scones while listening to Moira talk animatedly about life in Slaughtaverty, the festivals, celebrations, and local gossip lifts the fog from my mind, and I soon feel much better.

"Thank you so much for this treat, Moira," I tell her, placing my empty mug and plate on the tray. "I've always been more of a coffee drinker, but this tea has me questioning my life choices." I mean it. It was one of the most refreshing, soul-soothing things I've ever drunk. Liam's coffee now has some serious competition.

"'Tis me own special blend," she smiles proudly. "When I'm not playin' librarian, I'm a tea farmer... of sorts... very small scale. Me husband, Conor, is the true farmer, mostly hops and some sheep, but he planted a small plot of Camellia Sinensis shrubs for me and takes awfully good care of it. It's a robust plant that originated in the foothills of the Himalayas and does well in our climate, which tends to turn cold in a heartbeat. I have some other secret ingredients I put in there to give me teas their unique flavours. All healthy and legal, don't worry," she adds with a laugh when I quirk an eyebrow.

Listening to Moira talk about her husband and working the farm with him, my mind conjures up the scenes of domestic bliss I've yearned for since I can remember. It's not something I thought I would ever experience...

I still don't.

"That must be wonderful," I sigh wistfully, and when she gives me a questioning look, I add, "to be able to farm with your husband and create your own special tea blend. Being together on your own piece of land with your children... it just sounds so perfect."

"Oh, aye, 'tis pure class," she smiles and then her eyes narrow, sparkling with mirth. "But c'mere to me, and I'll tell ya; me fella often drives me off me nut with all the bleedin' shite he gets up to with those plonkers, Billy, Cianán and Ransford Slatherty."

I've not met Conor yet and I've no idea who Keenon is, but I've met Billy and Ransford; I can imagine them getting up to a lot of no good together. The thought makes me smile, and looking at Moira's lit-up face, I can tell she enjoys whatever antics she thinks of.

"Aw, lass, there's no reason for ye to have a face like a wet weekend, now!" she exclaims. My hopeless longing must be clear to see because she leans over and squeezes my forearm. "Ye'll have that kind of love too! Ye're to be married soon, after all."

"Excuse me?" I laugh, snapping out of my melancholic slump. I blink at her with wide eyes and, frowning slightly, she lifts my left hand, which is resting on the tabletop.

"Yer wearing a betrothal ring, aren't ye?" she points out, touching the emerald ring dwarfing my hand.

"This... what? It's not..." I choke, shocked by her words.

"Of course it is!" she exclaims, seeming almost offended at having her theory questioned. "I've been updatin' the database in here for donkey's years, and I have to listen to Diarmuid blatherin' on and on about all things Slatherty more often than any sane person should be forced to. I know a Slatherty betrothal ring when I see one. Look," she says, slipping the ring from my finger and showing me a carving on the inside of the band. It is small, and she takes her phone from her jeans pocket, using the camera to enlarge it.

"This is the Slatherty crest, with the word ezkongaia, which is Basque and can be translated to betrothed or bride. The Slatherties have a lot of Basque people far back in their ancestry. They originally spoke Euskara."

I have no idea how to respond to what she's telling me, and when she stops talking, tilting her head to give me a curious look, I take a deep breath and laugh nervously while I slip the ring back on my finger.

"I don't doubt that you're right about the ring, Moira," I assure her. "It's just not meant to be a betrothal ring when I'm the one wearing it. Liam gave it to me and told me to wear it when I leave the manor, and Alaric said it would open doors for me and prove my alliance to the Slatheries... for some reason, they thought it was important... and I promised to wear it, so..."

I am so confused right now!

"Oh, aye, to be sure, to be sure," Moira sighs, setting my hand down again. "I like me explanation more," she chuckles, giving me a mischievous wink. "Sure, look. I'll leave ye to crack on, then. I'm sorry ye've lost so much time, luv, but that only means that I'll be seein' more of ye in the future, right?"

"I do hope so," I laugh. "Thank you for all your kindness, Moira."

"Naw, lass, gettin' to know ye was pure craic," she assures me while I help her stack the tray with the debris of our tea break. "I can see why our Billy is so taken with ye."

He's what, now?

A frown draws her brows together when she lifts her phone from the desktop where she'd left it after enlarging the ring's inscription for me. I watch her navigate the screen, her expression changing from puzzled to mildly concerned. "Now, what has me Mary been up to?" she huffs, clicking her tongue. "That lass is one misstep away from bein' a complete bowsie, I tell ye. Bunkin' off classes and chasin' boys..."

Moira clicks her tongue again, turning off the phone's screen after an unsuccessful attempt to call who I think might've been Mary.

"We upgraded our bleedin' reception, but it always chooses the worst times to be the pox. Connor and I spent the night in Drohidskay after takin' some of our wares to the harbour for transport. We couldn't come home because the bleedin' mist was too thick to travel through. We had the two weans with us, but Mary stayed behind. She works at the Three-and-One, as ye know."

Sighing wearily, she shoves the phone back into her pocket and picks up the tray.

"What a day this is! I've been up to 90 since 4am, I tell ye. We raced home so Con could let the sheep out, and I needed to change and get Grace and William ready for school. I've been barrellin' to get all of us where we needed to be on time. I thought Mary was long gone because she's usually noisy in the mornin', but her teacher just sent me a message saying she did not show up for school! Bollox! I should've popped into her room. She must've been studyin' all hours again and overslept.

"Well, seems like I'll be goin' home to go give me youngwan an ear full if she is just bunking off," she mutters, and despite her words, I can see signs of concern on her face. "Conor will be out in the fields; no point in tryin' to call him with the connection banjaxed again. I'll be seein' ye, Aubrey. Give me a ring to make plans if I don't see ye before ye go."

Earlier, Moira and I exchanged numbers, and I'm looking forward to catching up with her again soon. I don't remember ever having any female friends my age, and in the span of 24 hours, I've met two potential friends.

I'm thrilled by the idea.

I'm still smiling at her when a clear vision of a boy's pale face and red-rimmed eyes suddenly floods my mind, jerking me upright with a gasp.

"Cillian!" I exclaim, horrified. How on Earth did I forget about him?! "I saw him here earlier," I explain when Moira gives me a startled look. "He seemed ill. He ran outside, and I went after him; that's why I was on the balcony. I couldn't find him and... I have no idea what happened then."

Moira blinks her eyes, her nostrils flaring, and I can tell she has a million thoughts running through her mind.

"Ye lost time?"

"Y-yes... I... think so."

For a moment, Moira just looks at me, her expression completely unreadable. Suddenly, she's a far cry from the animated, chatty person I met, but then her gentle and kind smile comes back.

"Aw, lass, the air out here can mess with a person if yer not used to it. Are ye sure it was Cillian ye saw? That boy is an awful good lad. He's no delinquent, and he never bunks off." Sighing, she moves the tray to the crook of her right arm. "And here I was hopin' he would rub off on me Mary, but it seems like she rubbed off on him instead. Thank ye for tellin' me, Aubrey."

"Yes, I'm certain it was him," I assure her, unconvinced that the boy was trying to skip school. "He didn't want to talk to me; he ran away."

"The lad is shy. A fine-lookin' woman as yerself would've had him leggin' it out of here on sight. Don't feel offended. He was probably here to retrieve somethin' for a teacher. I'll look into his situation too, and make sure he is fine. Chances are that if I find him, me Mary won't be far away. She's sweet on the boy. Poor lad."

"I'll go with you and help you," I offer, starting to get to my feet, but Moira gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze with her free hand.

"Ah, cheers, lass, but don't be worryin' about it; 'tis nothin' new," she smiles. "Maeve told me earlier that the two eejits stuffed themselves with dessert cake last night. I won't be surprised if they both have the scutters today. I'll be seein' ye soon, Aubrey."

An upset stomach would definitely explain Cillian's condition. Poor boy, he probably made a beeline for the nearest toilet. Still, I find it hard to get rid of the sense of dread stirring inside my gut.

After a visit to the washroom, it takes me a while to focus and get into my research groove, but once the filtered results for my narrowed-down search on the Dankworths start to roll in, I'm soon engrossed in the data. There are quite a large number of links to documents concerning them. If I have to read through all of it, I'll be here all week, so I remove my external hard drive from the laptop bag, plug it into the archive's computer and download all the documents I can for future reading rather than making print-outs.

There is one bit of information that jumps out at me. In the late 1500s, the Dankworths lived in an area called Tír Aonair (The Lone Land). The family had a son, Stafford and two daughters, Clarice and Charlotte. Since my surname is Dankworth, I assume I'm a descendant of Stafford.

Oddly, I do not see anything about him, his descendants or any other family members leaving Peace Haven, but I only scanned some of the documents. I'm sure my grandfather said our family branch left Peace Haven. Diarmuid confirmed that they left in the 1700s. He wasn't sure. He's not an expert on the Dankworth family.

I might find the information in some of the articles and old registration documents I downloaded, but if the Dankworths didn't all leave - except, of course, for Clarice, who married into the Slatherty family - I might still have family here on the island. The idea excites me, even if they will be very distantly related to me.

One of the Documents I look at is a family tree of the Slatherties. It is, however, disappointingly incomplete, starting in the early 1400s and ending in 1731 - as far as I can tell - with the last duke of Ulaidh's children. I would love to see the links all the way down to the present Slatherties, but no matter what I try as search parameters, there is very little information on the Slatherties in the database.

I'm not surprised. Diarmuid is the Slatherties' database, and he and Alaric explained that they value privacy. Still, the short piece of the family tree is quite informative, divulging at least some secrets.

Ransford Slatherty, the one I saw a portrait of in the dining room, I assume, was the son of Fiachra. He was an only child and married several times, producing many children. According to the short summary provided with the tree, most of his children died as infants, but five survived into adulthood. It also states that most of his wives died before, during or after the birth of their children. Tragic! Having babies was a high-risk activity in those days.

His last wife, Grainne, gave birth to twin sons, and they are the only ones with family extensions on the tree. All the others must've never married or died young, or whoever created the tree wasn't interested in their lines. I don't know whether Grainne survived her children's birth or not.

The eldest of the twins, Ransford Alaric Slatherty, had three wives and three children, and the other one, Fiachra Deaglan Slathery, had four wives and two children. His youngest son, Fiachra, was the son of Clarice Dankworth. Her inclusion in the tree must be why this document was among the search records.

What stuns me is that the line between Fiachra Deaglan Slatherty and Clarice Dankworth is dashed and not solid. That must mean that they were never married!!

The plaque on her painting in the billiard room had her as Clarice Dankworth and not Clarice Slatherty, which makes sense now. It must've been quite a scandal in those days. I'm surprised that she was included in the tree. There is no further information on her son.

I will ask Diarmuid about it. I hope he has a more complete family tree to fill in the blanks. I would love to see what happened to the twin brothers' children. At least one of them must've had a son for the current Slatherties to exist... unless they descend from one of Ransford's other sons whose wives and children are not shown on the tree.

When the clock on the computer screen tells me it's time to meet up with Billy for lunch, I shut down the computers and pack away my belongings. I wonder if Moira is back yet. I would love to know that Cillian is alright. The memory of meeting him in the archive is fuzzy, but I'm sure he wasn't quite well. I hope the children aren't suffering from diarrhoea, as Moira suspected.

I also want to ask her for directions to Tír Aonair. If it's not too far away or hard to reach, I would love to stop there on my way home quickly.

I'm pulling the strap of my laptop bag onto my shoulder when there is a knock on the open archive door, and my heart skips a beat when I turn to see Billy leaning against the doorjamb.

Today, he looks extra manly in a black shirt, contrasting beautifully with his bright hair and azure eyes. His impressive physique fills the entire doorway, dominating the space, and as always, he looks vibrantly alive. His very presence sets me at ease despite my heartbeat picking up its pace at the sight of him.

I answer Billy's wide grin with a smile and hurry over to him, thanking him when he takes the laptop bag from me.

"Howya, Aubrey?" he says, pulling me into a one-arm hug, and I bite down on my lip to stop embarrassing giggles from making me sound like a schoolgirl.

"I'm doing well, thank you, Billy. How are you?"

Golly, so formal!

Well, propriety has always been my go-to response when I'm feeling flustered, and I think Billy knows that because he looks at me with a teasing smile and eyes sparkling with amusement when he lets me go.

"I've been grand, thank ye," he smiles. Gazing at his face, I realise how much I've missed him. I find it strange how quickly I've grown attached to this man and how much I've come to depend on him. He is my anchor to normalcy, and he just has an air of gentle confidence and safety about him that draws me to him. I love being near him. "Did ye enjoy yer time in this mausoleum?"

"Oh, yes, it was brilliant, thank you," I tell him enthusiastically, falling into step beside him as we leave the room. "Moira was such a big help to me too. You have a lovely sister-in-law."

"To be sure, to be sure. Moira will talk the hind legs off a donkey, but she is pure class. Me brother is one lucky bastard," he agrees, allowing me to precede him down the stairs.

"So, lass, does this mean yer ready for lunch?" he asks, patting the bag slung from his shoulder when we leave the stairwell, entering the body of the library, where most of the desks are now abandoned. There are very few students around.

"Yes, I am," I say, and then I'm struck by inspiration. Touching his forearm, I turn to face him properly, causing him to stop walking. "But I have a favour to ask you first if you're up for it and it's possible."

"Let me hear it, then," he says, looking intrigued.

"I saw that my family used to live in a place called Tír Aonair. Do you have any idea where that is? If so, could you please direct me to it... or perhaps take me there?"

"Tír Aonair?! I haven't heard that name in yonks," he says, clearly surprised to hear me talk about it. "Aye, I can take ye there before we head to me gaff for lunch."

"Your... what?" I frown, blinking my eyes.

"Me house," he chuckles, gently patting me on the head. "Ye said ye wanted to see it. I thought I could make lunch for us there today. Unless ye'd prefer..."

"Oh! No, that sounds lovely!" I smile, really enthusiastic about the plan. "I would love to see where you live."

We cross the marble floor to the front door in silence while Billy scans the room with a frown. "Where did Moira disappear to? I was sure the lass would be naggin' me to let her join us for lunch."

"She must not be back yet," I say, not sure what to make of that. "She said she was going home to check on Mary and to see if Cillian is alright since they might both have a stomach bug."

"More like a sick-of-school bug," Billy chuckles. "Mary often pulls that one. The lad, not so much, but Mary seldom gives him a choice in anythin'. I won't be surprised if she finds them shiftin' somewhere. Mary might've finally won the lad over."

"I highly doubt that," I grimace. "I saw Cillian briefly this morning, but he ran off before I could get a good look at him. I'm rather worried. I hope they're alright."

"Runnin' away from feeks sounds like somethin' Cillian would do," Billy smiles fondly, thinking about the boy. "I'll stop by later and see how they're doin' and let ye know. I'm sure 'tis nothin' lass. The weans are always up to somethin' or another. Especially when Mary is involved."

He places an encouraging hand on the small of my back, and together, we leave the library. I groan involuntarily, shying away from the light when the bright midday sun stabs me in the eye, kickstarting a low ache in my head.

"Are ye alright, luv?" Billy asks, putting his hand on my shoulder and turning me so he can look into my eyes with features etched in concern.

"Oh, yes! I'm fine. Don't worry, I'm not repeating my Sunday weirdness," I laugh. "I think I might be a bit hungover today. The light is rather bright, and my spectacles amplified it for a moment. I honestly don't even know why I bother wearing them. I don't see better with them; my eyes just feel more protected and less sensitive, I suppose."

"Hungover? Just what do ye get up to with the men in that manor, lass?" Billy exclaims, grinning at me.

"Aine came home, and we had a lovely dinner for her," I inform him, avoiding his eyes because I'm wholly embarrassed about the details.

"Aye! Right, I saw her while I was in Drohidskay yesterday. 'Tis not usually a wild party when they have dinner together," he prompts, giving me a teasing look and, giggling, I run a hand through my hair, feeling flustered again.

I'm surprised when Billy grabs my hand, a sad look flashing over his face for a moment while he studies the ring on my finger.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "Ye got drunk at this dinner?" he asks, holding onto my hand a moment longer. Now, though he is smiling again, his eyes are guarded.

"I think so," I admit, lowering my head with a defeated sigh and, laughing, Billy gives my hand a squeeze before he lets it go.

"Did ye dance on the tables?"

"No," I laugh.

"Ah, that's a right pity. Ransford always does that, and he could do with some company up there. Besides, seein' ye dance on a table would be pure class; it might even blow some life into Alaric's heart."

"No!" I giggle, jabbing him in the ribs, and he grabs my hand again, running his thumb over my knuckles in a tender way that stirs something lost and melancholic in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts fill with what Moira told me about her tea-blending business and her husband farming it for her.

Looking into Billy's eyes, I see sunshine, life, and so many possibilities I never thought would come my way. Still, I also know with certainty that I have no idea what it's based on, that whatever feelings I might be developing for this robustly present man can never grow to fulfilment.

"I asked them weird questions about their blood-drinking habits," I blurt. "And flirted with their late brother using... uhm... an accent a lot like... well... yours."

I expect him to laugh and mock me, but when I dare to look at his face again, his features have a stricken look, and for a moment, I think I've offended him.

"Ye saw Ambrose?" he asks, and it's not offence darkening his expression; it's heartache. I did not realise that he, too, was fond of the man. I keep on opening my mouth and stepping on other people's pain.

I need a muzzle.

"Probably not," I mutter, feeling extremely uncomfortable under his burning eyes. "Look, that place messes with my imagination. Yesterday, I thought I saw a ghost with Ransford in the hallway, but that's just crazy. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to bring up something that hurts you."

"Naw, lass. I love that ye got to see him. I knew the bastard would be too stubborn to stay dead," he chuckles, but then his brows draw together in a frown. "Ransford saw him in the hallway with you?"

"No, it was a woman, but she probably wasn't even there."

"What... what did she look like?"

I close my eyes for a moment, really focusing on bringing the memory to the front of my mind; I've been trying hard to forget it because it makes no sense to me, and seeing Ransford that heartbroken was too much.

"She had long red hair, and she was beautiful," I finally say, surprised, when I open my eyes to find Billy watching me with a wistful look on his handsome face. I blink, and it is gone, replaced by his normal, gentle smile. "I don't just mean as in the conventional idea of perfect features or something purely physical. Her beauty shined from within her and flowed around her. She was breathtaking... and she was distraught.

"I think she was searching for something. She didn't seem to see either of us. Even when Ransford called out to her, she reacted but didn't see him, though she was standing right in front of him, and then she stepped through him and disappeared."

Billy puts an arm around my shoulders and steers me towards the parking lot.

"Ransford saw her? What did he do?"

"I'm not sure. I looked away for a second; he was gone when I looked his way again. I'm not even entirely sure I saw that, Billy. In fact, I hope I didn't because he seemed utterly devastated. I would rather just have imagined it."

"To be sure, to be sure," he says and reaching the car where I parked it, I open the bag he's holding to find the key I'd dropped in there this morning. "Do ye want me to navigate or drive?" he asks when I unlock the vehicle.

"Oh! Drive, please," I say, holding the key out for him. "That way, I get to be a tourist and look at all the pretty things... If you don't mind."

"Not at all, at all," he chuckles, taking the keys and opening the passenger door for me. He gives me a hand into the rather high body of the four-wheel drive and places the laptop bag behind my seat.

When we pull out of the parking lot and start down the main road, I realise why the library was so empty. I didn't notice it when we were leaving the library because the sudden exposure to sunlight blinded me, and then Billy did... with all his Billyness. The park in the centre of the circular main road is filled with people having lunch, sitting around in groups or taking naps under the trees.

It all seems so normal and peaceful; it's hard to imagine any of the strange things I've experienced in Slaughtaverty Manor. As we drive along the main road, leaving the town from the opposite side of the circle from where I'd entered it, Billy points out buildings and people we pass. He tells me stories about his own embarrassing experiences after having one ale too many, and I'm soon giggling happily.

"I would love to hear yer version of me accent, Aubrey," he tells me after entertaining me with a story of him and his brother being flutered - his word - and ending up butt naked, trying to catch fish barehanded in the small pond at the centre of the park, while onlookers encouraged them with outlandish instructions on how to catch the fish.

To put the ridiculousness of the story into perspective, one should note that there are no fish in that pond, and there never were.

"Can ye do it for me now?"

"No!" I giggle, hiding my face in my hands. "I should never have told you that!"

"Ah, g'wan!" he encourages me, laughing at my embarrassment. "I told ye all me deep dark secrets; it's only fair."

"They were hardly deep nor dark and not all that secret if almost the entire village witnessed your antics."

"Aye, I do tend to do me secret things out in the open," Billy chuckles. "Don't be worryin' about that, lass; I'll just feed ye enough ale with yer lunch to bring the Slaughtaverty wench out to play with me."

"Uhm... I really wasn't worried about that," I say, giving him a side look and, laughing, he pats my knee.

"Ah, 'tis good to see ye again, lass."

"Believe it or not, it's really good to see you too," I smile, feeling my cheeks colour hotly.

"Here we are," Billy announces after a long drive partially through the forest and then out and up into the hills. There wasn't even a road for the last minute.

He helps me down from the passenger seat, and I gaze around me while Billy points out the borders of what he believes had once been Dankworth land. I am awed by the magnificent view of the village below us, and to my left, beyond the vast forest not too far from us, I can see Slaughtaverty Manor standing tall, watching out over the land.

My first thoughts are of the magnificent view, my second is a crushing disappointment because there is nothing in sight except sheep grazing in an expansive meadow, interspersed by clusters of trees forming small forest islands in a see of green, wild grass.

There are no buildings, not so much as two stones are left on each other to mark the fact that my family ever lived here.

"It's beautiful out here," I finally say, trying not to show how crushed I am, but Billy, ever observant, crosses the few steps separating us to wrap his arms around me, pulling me flush against his warm chest.

"I'm sorry, lass," he says after a long moment, just holding me tightly. "I'm not sure what ye were expecting, but I should've warned ye that there's nothing out here but Conor's sheep. Me brother's land is on the far wack of that grove over there," he says, releasing me to point out sections of stone wall barely visible on the other side of a copse in the distance. "This is free pasture. We just call it the pasture now."

"Your brother owns quite a bit of land," I observe, squinting to see some buildings in the distance.

"Aye, he does," Billy smiles. "Con's farming skills are quality. He is a savage farmer."

I smile, enjoying to see how proud Billy is of his older brother.

"Don't you ever wish that you could farm it instead?"

"I do farm it more often than I want to," he laughs. "There's a lot of work to be done. Especially come harvest time."

While we're talking, we wander through the long grass and over boulders, steadily going higher up the hill, enjoying the fresh air and the beauty of a rare cloudless day.

I would've appreciated some clouds to save me from the glare, though. The sun is not hot, just bright.

"It is really beautiful out here," I sigh, turning to look at Billy, and stop, surprised to see what appears to be some kind of stone structure hidden among a thick copse near us beyond what used to be the Dankworth's borders. "What is that?" I ask, glancing at Billy, and when he turns to look at what caught my attention, I start walking in that direction.

He joins me when I enter the thicket filled with tall trees, ferns and other shrubs, tugging at my clothes. There is no footpath, and the walk turns into bundu-bashing. I'm glad when Billy moves past me to clear the way for me. He is such a gentleman, helping me over obstacles and holding thick branches back so I can pass without getting smacked in the face.

Sure, I could do it myself and get where I want to go, but having him kindly make it easier for me warms my heart. Glancing at him, I can tell that his intentions are born from compassion and respect, and when he gives me an encouraging smile, my heart skips several beats.

"Thank you," I tell him when we enter a clearing from where I can see the building that drew my attention in much more detail. Its blackened stone is overgrown with thick creeper vines, leaping up into the branches of the trees. The scene is simultaneously beautiful and heartbreaking. Once upon a time, this was someone's home. Now, it's nothing but ruins.

My feet falter when I walk towards it, flashes of my recurring dreams flitting in and out of my mind, leaving me shivering in the shadows.

In my dreams, the house was not ruined; it was beautiful and warm, filled with love and laughter. There's barely anything left. Following the snippets of dream memories, my feet find their way, without faltering, to an old filled-up well in what was once the backyard. Only the structure that would've held a bucket centuries ago still stands, along with the circular walls, mostly crumbling now. 

With a knowledge of their own, my fingertips run over the rough stone of a section of the intact border to trace the faded lines of carved initials I've dreamed about on and off for years now. BD ♥ MS.

"Why would I dream of this place?" I ask Billy when I feel his warmth reaching me through the thin material of my blouse. "Why would I dream about this carving? This is not on Dankworth land, is it?"

Billy might have the borders wrong because this house and this well are the first things out here to stir up strong emotions inside me, containing things that haunt my dreams.

"Naw," Billy says, his voice sounding strangled, and I turn to find him standing behind me, looking down at me with eyes filled with tension. He looks upset, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. Frowning, I reach up to touch it.

"This is Sullivan land," he tells me, covering my hand with his, flattening it against his warm cheek.

Though I can feel his stubble and see the blue of his eyes being swallowed by their pupils, the world around me merges and swirls in a blur, and for a moment, the eyes I'm looking into are that of a boy no older than 13.

"I'll always love ye, Muir," he says in a voice that has not finished breaking yet. "Even if ye are an eejit!"

"What?!" I breathe, clutching Billy's shirt with my other hand to stay on my feet under the impact of the vision.

Overwhelming sorrow drags up from my core, and I stumble forward, burying my face in Billy's chest, seeking comfort. When I feel his arms wrap around my shaking form, I lean into his warmth, no longer fighting the sobs tearing painfully from the depths of my soul.

"'Tis alright, luv," he murmurs huskily, stroking my hair, and I can feel his body trembling against mine. "Just let it all out."

~~~